


Gray

by travelingsymphony



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anorexia, Anxiety, Brief Bulimia, Depression, Eating Disorders, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10349301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travelingsymphony/pseuds/travelingsymphony
Summary: Gray/grā/ adjective(adjective: grey)1. of a color intermediate between black and white, as of ashes or an overcast sky.2. dull or nondescript; without interest or character.The four times Viktor stopped eating and the one time he didn’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this story is a mess and a half so if this is sensitive material to you, **please read with discretion** or not at all. this story is personal to me and these are experience that I have seen, but I also have done research on anorexia in figure skating and also the illness in general. please seek help if you are going through this and jesus christ, it gets better, I promise. 
> 
> this is my personal characterization of Viktor and Yuuri, this is not canon and I hope it never will be. 
> 
> Colors (pt I and II) by Halsey inspired this story because it fit way too well with Viktor’s character with the lyrics “everything was gray: his hair, his hopes, his dreams”, “you’re ripped at every edge, but you’re a masterpiece”, and of course “I hope you make it to the day your twenty-eight years old”. these lyrics put together created this mess and I’m pretty proud of it?? it’s been a year since I’ve actually written anything and finished it so praise. 
> 
> special shoutout to my friend Karina for being my beta and I know I would have never been able to do this without her so thank you thank you thank you!!! 
> 
> enjoy! (ps. I would personally listen to the stripped version of Colors by Halsey while reading this, but you do you).

I. 

Viktor started when he was young because he still had the energy to bring himself through the day, but as he got older, it started to take a larger toll on him.

It’s the dirty secret numerous skaters have locked away, hidden from their admirers.

No one wants to confess that they aren’t eating on purpose and Viktor definitely wasn’t going to be the person to turn the tide. 

He was sixteen when he started. It wasn’t much, but that’s how it always starts. 

He remembers the training for his final Junior Grand-Prix and how everything just went gray. 

Viktor loved bread. He was so enamoured he could marry the baked perfection. He loved eating it—sweet breads for breakfast, rolls at dinners, and everything in between. 

But when Yakov saw him shove an entire chocolate muffin down his throat because he was late for morning practice, that love faltered. 

“Viktor, you know you can’t eat that, stop it.” Yakov grabbed the next muffin out of Viktor’s hand and threw it in the nearest garbage can. 

“Oh Yakov, it’s just one muffin.” Viktor smiled brightly, but his stomach growled, still hungry for more.

“No. Have you ever looked at what is in those? No more, now get going.” Yakov snapped, but Viktor knew that he was only angry that he was late. 

But it got him thinking; Viktor never really cared about what he ate, he usually just grabbed the nearest thing and went. Maybe he could just give one look. 

After a long day of practice—and Viktor discovering he forgot to pack a lunch—he went home hungry as hell. He stomped up to his room while dinner was being prepared and got on his computer. 

_“Have you ever looked at what is in those?”_ Echoed through Viktor’s brain and before he knew it, he was typing ‘how many calories are in the average chocolate muffin?’.

364 calories.

Well, that isn’t too bad. Viktor smiled at himself. 

_‘What is that old man going on about?’_

Then the gears started turning; Viktor was planning on eating two muffins. So that would have been–

728 calories.

Viktor has a 2,000 calorie diet, oh. 

Oh.

And that alone was 260 fat calories, oh. 

Viktor furrowed his eyebrows together. That seems pretty high. 

Viktor remembered that he had a handful of cereal that morning too.

120 calories.

364+120= 484. Okay, that’s not too bad. 

But usually Viktor eats more than that, a lot more. 

Viktor could feel his stomach growl again; he was starving.

But he also ate three muffins and chicken salad yesterday, plus he drank two cans of soda and a coffee.

Maybe he should cut back more. 

“Oh Vitya, dinner is done.” Viktor could hear his mother call him down for dinner, but the screen of his laptop shined brighter than his stomach. 

“Thanks Mama, but I’m not that hungry.”

* * *

Viktor was able to lose 10 pounds before the Junior Grand-Prix and he never felt better.

They even had to get his costume refitted and Yakov was over the moon. 

“See, I told you what happens once those stupid breads are gone.”

Viktor nodded his head to that with a large smile and bright eyes. 

He felt stronger, lighter, better. He felt like he belonged to the ice rather than simply being a part of it. 

His diet was rock hard and he diligently calculated exactly how many calories he would need for the perfect ratio between calories lost and gained. 

Losing the weight was no trouble once he got used to his diet, and the loss made Viktor feel alive. 

Then he won the Junior Grand-Prix and everything was falling together perfectly. 

The world was cold and bright, but his insides were warm—be it from adrenaline or the fact that he missed lunch due to his routine falling around noon, Viktor wasn’t really sure. 

Whatever it was, Viktor knew that he couldn’t stop now. He was just getting started.

* * *

“Vitya, you haven’t eaten dinner with me in weeks. Come down.” His mother had a worried look in her eyes and Viktor could not understand why.

“Mama, I already told you, I’m not that hungry.” Viktor’s smile was sweet, hoping get his mother off of his back.

He was fine, just not hungry. That’s okay, why eat if you aren’t.

His mother had that soft look as if she was going to start crying, but she didn’t pry. Instead, she gave her son a kiss on the cheek and ran her hand softly through his long silver hair. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, Mama.”

* * *

Viktor does not understand why everyone is worried about him.

He has lost 15 pounds in the last couple of months and that is fantastic. 

He feels fantastic, why does everyone want to take that feeling away? 

He grabbed an apple and water before going on his morning run. 

Viktor figured that an easy one mile run in the morning would get the edge off and also burn around 100 calories, taking the apple off completely plus a little more. 

After that, he would grab his snack, 260 calories of walnuts (about 40 of them), more water, and a chicken salad without dressing to equal a grand total of 602 calories. 

And that was good, perfect actually. It has been working the past couple of months, but why are people worried now? 

Why was Yakov worried?

Viktor’s morning practice went well, but his joints had felt a little stiff. This wasn’t too unusual, but today it was noticeable. 

He didn’t want Yakov to worry so he quickly skated off the rink for lunch, but was stopped by his coach anyway. 

“Is that all you are eating Viktor? You had a rather difficult practice, you should be eating more.” Yakov noted as he looked closely at the contents of Viktor’s bag, causing Viktor to feel more self-conscious than usual. 

“Don’t worry Yakov, I’m fine.” Viktor smiled just as brightly as ever, but his mouth felt sore. He patted the man’s face turning beat red with anger, then escaped to go sit down and eat. 

“Make sure you’re eating Viktor.” Viktor heard Yakov growl under his breath. The comment got under Viktor’s skin more than it should have. 

He _was_ eating—why couldn’t anyone see that?

* * *

Then his mother crossed the line.

“You did what?” Viktor never raised his voice toward his mother and he wasn’t going to start now, but he was damn close. 

“Viktor, you aren’t eating,” His mother snapped back forcefully making Viktor step back. “I had no other choice than to call him.”

“Don’t you understand, I’m on a diet like another athlete in the world, Yakov gets that.” Viktor didn’t understand, he was losing weight, feeling good, and he was eating. 

He was fucking eating. 

“Eating an apple, nuts, a salad, and nothing for dinner is not eating, Viktor. I will not see my son waste away.” Her voice was louder than he had ever heard it and it shook him to the core, sending shockwaves through his heart. 

“I’m not wasting away, I’m losing weight.” Frustration filled Viktor to the brim—he wanted to grip his hair and scream. He was eating, he was eating, he was eating-

“Viktor, you are starving yourself.”

“No I’m not.” Viktor’s voice got caught in his throat when he saw tears running down his mother’s face. 

He just didn’t get why no one believed him; he was fine. 

“Mama, don’t. Don’t cry, Mama, please. I’ll eat dinner with you. Don’t worry.” Viktor went over to his mother who was holding a trembling hand to hide her mouth, sat her down at the table, and then joined her. He held her hand in his and tried to smile, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. 

He still held her when she let out a sob and Viktor didn’t understand.

He just didn’t get it, he was eating. 

He guessed that he would just have to eat a little more for the time being.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

II.

He went to the hospital when he was twenty, less than a month after his birthday. 

After six months of eating every plate of food his mother handed to him—he couldn’t handle seeing her cry again—and Yakov checking his weight constantly, they finally started to back off.

He had gained all of his weight back and more. He felt disgusting. 

Viktor could feel the fat surrounding his stomach and thighs. It was so repulsive he could barely look in a god damn mirror.

But they were backing off now, trusting him to make healthy choices, and he was not going to let that trust go to waste. 

Until the habits set back in.

First, he ate with his mother every day except Saturday. 

Viktor started telling her that he was going out with friends, that they always got something to eat.

Viktor did go out with friends sometimes, but never ate. Most of the time, he was back on the rink. 

The rink knew him, the rink wanted this too. The rink didn’t want his extra weight suffocating it. The rink knew that thinner is always better. Always.

So he went there, he could be out there undisturbed for hours because his mother was so happy to see her son making friends that most of the time, she would try to get him to stay out longer. 

He felt bad some days; Viktor would just stare at the rink, wondering what the fuck he was even doing. 

Most days he didn’t care though and his weight began to fall again. Slower this time. 

It was still progress no matter the speed, and he needed those pounds off again if it was the last thing he could do.

* * *

He did this for a full year and no one noticed. Viktor didn’t know if he should be thankful for that or not.

He looked healthy and was able to drop a couple of sizes again.

Most people believed that it was the last of the baby weight falling off, creating the man they saw.

Sometimes, Viktor wished that were true. 

But he was winning more—–he was turning faster, skating faster, just getting faster. 

Sure it hurt his knees more, but he was a figure skater. It was going to happen anyway. 

The gold was worth it though. Every time the heavy metal lay on his chest, he remembered why he was doing this. 

For the rink, for the ice, for the glory. 

It was worth it every damn time.

* * *

Practice got harder and his knees hurt more.

They hurt like all of hell was rested on his shoulders and he was doomed forever to carry it at Satan’s whims. 

Viktor would stare at his thighs, and after staring long enough, they looked absolutely colossal. 

They were big and round, bulky and as ungraceful as a newborn calf. They bulged in all of his costumes—he could feel the seams being torn—and he got the horrible feeling that he was going to cry.

Viktor decided he hated his thighs the most and that they had to be the first thing to go.

So he started counting calories again. 

It had been almost four years since he first started and he was fine. 

He wasn’t going to eat only 500 calories a day, that would just be plain stupid. 

He was just going to run more is all, not like running does much anyways.

* * *

So he ran around two hours before going to practice in the mornings.

That could get around 700 to 1100 calories out of his body before the day even started. 

He ate the same things that he had been, a couple apples, a bunch of nuts, cheese and crackers, and still had dinner with his Mama. 

He finally felt better. Viktor felt his old self back in his body and it made him stronger. 

And he looked pretty good, his thighs were smaller, and slick like they were back when he was younger. 

The definition in them was almost gone just like he had hoped, for he couldn’t bear seeing the lines and curves the fat created on his pale skin. 

Finally, he was looking like he always wanted too. 

Only 15 more pounds to go.

* * *

For his twentieth birthday, Viktor asked for a full length mirror and a scale.

He swore that he saw his mother’s face falter, but she didn’t say anything. 

He could still see something was on her mind, but when Viktor took a huge bite out of her delicious beef stroganoff, all he saw was that sunshine filled smile. 

And all he could think about was making his beautiful Mama proud.

* * *

Viktor does not squeal, but he was close to doing so when he saw those two beautiful things in his room on Christmas Day.

* * *

Maybe he was taking it too far.

This wasn’t the first time he thought that, but this time he was serious.

Only because his hair seemed to be falling out more than usual. 

In the shower, hair would litter his hands after he shampooed it and it was kind of gross. 

After rubbing himself down with a cold towel, Viktor sought out his computer in his dimly lit room and googled ‘can weight loss make you lose hair?’

‘Make sure you are eating enough calories.’

Viktor was definitely eating enough calories, he even almost goes over his diet sometimes.

2000 calories a day, no ifs, ands, or buts. 

2000 calories, then a run and practice. 

A run would take off around 800 at this point and practice would take off the rest-

Oh. Oh no.

He was taking this too far.

* * *

He started cutting back on the runs even though he thought of it as cheating, but he knew that he was getting enough calories in.

Only running a couple times a week, Viktor’s hair felt softer and stronger. 

He didn’t even realize how much it was breaking until he actually felt the difference and, damn, there was definitely a difference.

His joints seemed to feel better too. They did crack every time he walked, but that made his steps feel a little lighter anyway. 

And now, after competing and winning yet another gold, he felt like he was at the top of the world. 

“Oy, Yakov, I’m going to go call Mama, it’ll only take a few moments.” Viktor smiled brightly at his coach and winked as tons of reporters ran to him and Viktor made his leave. 

He couldn’t help but laugh when Yakov began cursing at him in Russian for him to come back and to not leave him alone with the press. 

Viktor’s steps were loud in the empty hallway, and just as he was going to dial his mother’s number, he turned the corner and met with a strong chest and a wave of fear. 

“I’m so so sorry-”

“Don’t worry thunder thighs, I should have heard you coming from a mile away.”

And that’s when Viktor snapped.

* * *

He stopped eating. It was plain and simple and he was not going to fucking eat until someone had to force his mouth fucking open to take a goddamn spoon down his thick ass throat.

Viktor never called his mom and never returned to do his mandatory interviews.

He just went back to his hotel room and went straight into the bathroom.

His knees shook as he looked in the mirror. 

He had never been this desperate and his heart felt cold in his empty chest. 

He kept looking over to the toilet and thought ‘only one time’.

“Only one time.” Viktor whispered to himself in the mirror, he looked bad. 

He looked _really_ bad. 

But the toilet looked like a friend rather than an enemy.

So he kneeled down, grasped the porcelain bowl, and pulled up the seat. 

Viktor had never cried as hard as he did once realizing that he had just made himself throw up. He sat, shivering against the cold porcelain thinking about what went wrong. 

Never cried harder.

* * *

Viktor never did that again, no matter how much he wanted too.

* * *

It was finally in January when his body completely gave out on him, leading him to faint at practice after not eating for about a week.

He could feel it coming too, but he hadn’t wanted to face the fact that he was seriously ill. 

Physically and mentally. 

His joints hurt so much that he thought they were going to shatter into small pieces then to dust. 

Fire rushed through his lungs and his cheeks felt heavy with air.

He never realized that his vision was getting dotty until another skater approached him, asking if he was okay. 

That skater being a young Yuri Plisetsky, a _very_ young Plisetsky. 

Viktor could never forgive himself for putting that child through a probable heart attack after watching him black out and collapse on to the ice. 

Viktor couldn’t forgive himself for a lot of things now.

* * *

He woke up in the hospital with IVs in his arms and an air mask on his face.

His mother, his poor, poor Mama, was curled up on a shitty hospital chair, sleeping restlessly. 

How long was he out?

Viktor couldn’t process what was going on because nurses began to flow into the room with question after question—‒ones that he had no answers too. 

Then Yakov came in and everything went to shit.

“You weren’t eating again, were you.” His voice was low and Viktor couldn’t look him in the eye.

His mother started to wake up and Viktor began to cry. 

He didn’t understand why he was doing this, but he knew he didn’t want to stop. 

He wanted to lose another 5 pounds. Just 5 more. 

But it was always 5 more, then another 5 and it continued.

Viktor couldn’t fucking stop and he started crying harder. 

Yakov looked like he had just been hit by a train, and he seemed to stumble back. His best skater, starving himself. 

Was it his fault? No, Viktor would argue that to the day he died. 

His mother, now fully awake, jumped into her son’s arms and cried. 

And Viktor cried. 

And Yakov cried. 

And the little boy with the long blond hair watching from the window cried too.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

III.

Viktor moved out and got a dog by the time he was twenty-two.

His mother couldn’t take it anymore and he didn’t blame her.

He couldn’t take it either.

Viktor started to go to a therapist a couple weeks after he was released from the hospital.

She was really nice and had a very kind smile, but it all made Viktor want to puke.

He hated how he had a problem and he hated how he didn’t want to change it. 

At first, he was the one who wanted to go and talk it out. Maybe that’s all he needed. 

Someone to listen who understood and cared. 

Then he realized that any doctor was ready to make a quick dollar and having the number one figure skater at their doors made them faint. 

That’s what he hated the most. 

But his first visit was nice, he couldn’t lie about that. 

His mother went with him. Viktor was positive that she thought he would just dip out and die in a ditch. 

The therapist asked a lot of questions and he tried to give her the best answers. 

“When did this start?” “I was 16.”

“Have you ever forced yourself to-” “Yes.”

He didn’t want his mother to have to hear the last part of that sentence. 

“Do you find yourself wanting to get rid of parts of your body?” “Yes.”

“What parts?” “My thighs.”

“Do you hate yourself, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Viktor felt like he couldn’t breathe because he didn’t hate himself. 

And everyone thought he did.

“No, I don’t.”

The therapist took down notes as his mother grabbed his hand and held it strong. 

He smiled up at her and she did the same; Viktor would always love his Mama. 

No matter what.

* * *

“Well Mr. Nikiforov, you seem to have a moderate to severe case of anorexia.”

Those were the last words Viktor ever wanted to hear come out of someone’s mouth.

* * *

When they started talking about prescriptions and limitations, Viktor got nervous.

Medication? Why did he need medication?

He isn’t sick anymore, he is eating. He is doing everything everyone is telling him to do.

Why did he need medication?

And limitations, limits on what? Not skating. Anything but skating.

His breaths deepened as fear and panic rested at the brim of his lungs, and he felt like this is what it meant to drown above water. 

Viktor was being swallowed up whole—and he didn’t know what to do.

Not skating, anything but skating, please dear God, anything, let me skate, let me skate, let me skate-

“Viktor, you need to take deep breaths with me.” His eyes couldn’t focus, but someone was holding his hand and squeezing it to the beats which he should be breathing at.

Medication and limitations. 

Viktor himself was already limiting everything as it was.

* * *

He had a panic attack and Viktor felt like a shell of himself.

They were putting him on depression and anxiety medication and that wasn’t him.

He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t.

He didn’t cry every night and he didn’t want to die, he just— 

He was just taking actions that could lead to both. Viktor doesn’t want to die. 

He wants to lose the weight that he fucking gained _again_ because he was _almost_ ten pounds overweight and that is fucking _stupid_. 

His thighs felt fucking huge and his heart felt fucking small and everything was out of proportion again.

Speaking of proportions, his meal sizes were giant. 

There was so much food, too much food. Every time Viktor saw his plate, his stomach would roll over with panic and dread. 

The worst part was the bread. 

The stupid fucking bread that started this whole mess, and there was tons of it.

‘Carbs are still important to a healthy diet, Viktor.’

Healthy diet his ass. They just wanted to fatten him up again. 

Fatten him up and make him physically break the ice with just a step on it. 

But he wasn’t depressed. 

Sometimes he just wished he wasn’t here is all.

* * *

The first fight he had with his Mama in years was about going to his next session.

The disagreement occurred after around eight months of going to his sessions. 

At first, he had them twice a week, then once, then every other. 

And it was one of those weeks were Viktor didn’t want to leave his house, no matter the reason. 

His thighs kept sticking together in the shower and he couldn’t stop hitting them and sobbing in front of the mirror and he didn’t want to leave his bed. 

No one wants to see the mess that world class figure skater Viktor Nikiforov has become.

He didn’t even want to see the mess. 

Viktor decided that one missed session wouldn’t kill him.

His mother thought otherwise. 

“Vitya?” He could hear the panic in her voice before his door slammed open.

“Vitya, oh sweetheart.” She ran in, dropping the groceries that she got after work. 

“I got a call, you didn’t show up to your session and I thought-”

Oh. 

“I’m good Mama, just tired is all.” Viktor tried to smile, but it’s been too long since he actually could.

“You have to go honey, you know the deal with Yakov.” 

_‘You don’t go to therapy, you don’t skate, no excuses. Just get better.’_

“I just didn’t want to go Mama, okay.” Viktor’s voice was getting icy and he almost couldn’t recognize it. 

“Vitya, you don’t have a choice. I scheduled another one in an hour so get ready and I’ll take you myself.” 

“I’m not going, I’m fine.” His teeth hurt and his stomach growled at the wrong time.

“Viktor,” His mother never says his full name. “You ate today.”

That wasn’t a question and Viktor couldn’t bare to give a response.

“Viktor, I have had it with you! You are a twenty-one year old man and you need to start acting like one. I can’t carry you on my shoulders your whole life and you can’t expect me too. I’m done forcing you to eat, I’m done seeing you stuck in your room, I’m done seeing you still acting as if you are sixteen! I have had it.” Mama’s voice echoed off the walls and Viktor had never been so quiet. 

Because she’s right. 

Viktor was a fucking mess and the only thing to confirm it was the hard slam of his bedroom door.

* * *

So Viktor moved out.

He wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew what bills were and how to act outside of his mother’s warmth.

He had just never wanted it to end like this. 

He loved his mother no matter what, but at the end of the day… 

Maybe this is the best way to show his love, by letting her go.

And he was right.

* * *

The apartment he got was nice and small.

Silver was the main theme and it made Viktor feel off.

He had always been surrounded by gold and leaving behind the silver.

He guessed it kind of humbled him in a way. 

He liked the change.

* * *

He went to therapy every other week for the next year and a half.

Viktor didn’t know if he was getting better.

He ate more and practiced like a maniac, but he couldn’t take walks.

He just wanted to run. 

And run and run and run and run and run.

And he found the perfect reason too.

* * *

Makkachin.

He got a dog, a poodle to be exact, and named her Makkachin.

She wasn’t a puppy, being five years of age already.

But she had these big eyes that took Viktor’s heart and smashed it in the nearest car window.

_‘She’s a good dog, when we found her, she was basically starved to death.’_

Viktor swallowed harshly and that’s exactly how he knew she was the one for him.

Once he finally got back to his apartment and sat beside the sweet dog, he ruffled her soft fur.

“We’re going to get through this together.”

* * *

Viktor started running again.

Not because of his weight or his diet or his whatever.

Makkachin really liked to run.

She had the sweetest look on her face when they went out to the park and ran in circles for hours.

Their favorite time to go out was after the sun set because it wasn’t too cold yet and not many people were out. 

This was also their bonding time because Viktor was always training and she had no one else at home. 

So of course they would do it every night and—it was Viktor’s fault. 

He forgot to say anything about it and well.

He started losing weight again. 

And Viktor would be lying if he said that he wasn’t enjoying that part too.

* * *

Nothing is worse than having your own therapist quit on you.

Viktor decided that when she told him that he should find someone else. 

“Viktor, it is obvious that this isn’t working, you are still losing weight, my practice isn’t for you.”

“It was a misunderstanding, I’m not doing it for the weight, I got a new dog-”

“Mr. Nikiforov, I have offered you everything I know and I’m sorry.”

Yeah, definitely the worst.

* * *

When Viktor had no one, he had Makkachin.

That beautiful, fluffy, and all around great dog was the reason why he got up when he didn’t want to.

Because she had to eat, and finally, finally—

Finally, Viktor was getting it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

IV.

Viktor left Russia when he was twenty-seven because he finally saw what real love was. 

He saw what the real sacrifice was to become the best figure skater; the want to get better and love of improving yourself.

And even then, the guilt couldn’t stay in Russia.

* * *

The first time Viktor won the Grand-Prix, he was twenty-three.

He remembered the tears being neither happy nor sad. Just pure emotion that had nowhere to go but onto his face.

He hadn’t talked to his mother in months and Yakov spoke to him like he was cracked glass that shouldn’t be broken again. 

His legs felt heavy on the ice, bending and breaking the surface.

Viktor was still five pounds under weight, but eating. Sadly.

He didn’t know why he was still skating, maybe it’s because it put something else on his mind.

Maybe because it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

Maybe because he had nowhere else to go but the rink, his real home. 

He cried a little harder that night, grasping the gold medal and wishing he had someone to share it with.

* * *

Yuri Plisetsky was an interest character in Viktor’s mind.

A very young boy with a very sharp personality and very soft looks.

For how young he was, Plisetsky could easily stand his ground himself.

He was violent, dangerous, and out of control. It reminded Viktor of himself when he was his age.

And he vowed that Plisetsky would come out right.

“Yuri, that step sequence looked fantastic.” Viktor’s smile reached his eyes.

He had never seen a smile off of the boy’s face and he didn’t see one then.

But the quick twist of his lips was good enough.

* * *

He won his second Grand-Prix living on anger and sorrow.

Months earlier, Yakov walked into his apartment and removed his full length mirror and his scales. 

All six of them.

He wasn’t allowed to see how much he weighed, or what he looked like.

All he could see was from the waist up and he got tired of seeing his eyes.

Viktor got really tired of seeing his will to live slip from his fingers.

So that was his theme of that year: utter sorrow. 

And the amount of news coverage on it was amazing because all the journalists and announcers could say was how good of an actor he was.

And, for just a fraction of a moment, Viktor wished that he was one.

* * *

“Oy, Viktor, you good?” Plisetsky voice cut through the air like shards, digging for only the truth.

“I’ll be okay.” Viktor wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth either.

Plisetsky nodded and walked passed him.

He felt the nudge of the boy’s elbow in his side.

And Viktor knew then that someone was going to have his back for a while.

* * *

He won his third Grand-Prix on pure luck.

Many would say that he had that gold medal in the bag, but it wasn’t.

Viktor stopped practicing a month before because of his knees.

He went through a lot of physical therapy, walking, jogging, and eventually running.

All because of what he did at the age of sixteen.

His joints never recovered from the lack of nutrients he forced upon them, along with his constant training without the realization of what they needed. 

Viktor was lucky that he was even able to move without immense pain. 

He was in some pain though, enough that he couldn’t skate. 

And he wanted to skate, somewhat at least.

Yakov was forced to check up on him every night and take Makkachin out on her daily walks.

“You are feeding her right?” Yakov would ask every night.

But Viktor knew and smiled at him with exhausted eyes.

“Of course.”

Somehow, Viktor was able to pull it out of his ass to win that gold medal once again. 

It wasn’t like he wanted to win them anymore, they became as useless as him.

Useless, just something shiny and bright to make everyone look the other way.

* * *

One night however, Viktor was greeted by Yakov and Yuri.

He was shocked, but his heart swelled a little bit when he saw Yuri lean down for Makkachin to smell him.

“Can I walk her?” Yuri’s soft voice surprised Viktor and he nodded furiously. 

Yakov and Viktor talked about everyones improvements and it was nice.

He felt like everything was actually okay.

Yuri came back with a lot of fur on his clothes and Viktor couldn’t help but laugh.

“I can’t believe your dog and you have the same personality, shithead.” Yuri said bitterly. “Absolutely suffocation.”

Viktor couldn’t help ruffling Yuri’s hair, it had been years since someone actually told him the truth.

* * *

The fourth time was for Makkachin.

Literally, Viktor had no idea what to make this year’s theme, but somehow it became puppy love, and Viktor wishes he could say that he was drunk when he made that decision.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t, but that was the bad part.

It became harder to find a Viktor that wasn’t completely shit faced.

He was never a big drinker, but once he realized it was easier for him to drink rather than eat, alcohol became his biggest calorie intake. 

Viktor was never fond of waking up with the feeling of cotton in his mouth and a pounding headache, but it allowed more hours of the day focusing his attention on something other than what he had been focusing on for the last decade—

The last decade.

It had been a decade. 

Viktor stopped drinking after realizing that because even the over consumption of alcohol couldn’t change that he had been hating himself for almost half of his life. 

Puppy love. How he got that, he doesn’t know.

But he damn sure knew that Makkachin was the best dog in the world.

And he feeds her every day, so he did that for himself too.

* * *

“I’m coming over and making sure you have a decent meal.” Yuri’s voice was muffled over the phone, but Viktor appreciated the thought.

“I’m hurt Yuri, don’t think I can cook a meal good enough to eat.”

“God knows I do and the last thing we want is your ass dead on the floor.” Viktor tsked at that.

“You just want to see Makkachin again, don’t you.”

“Shut the fuck up old man.”

Viktor hadn’t laughed that hard in years.

* * *

He didn’t really have a theme for his fifth gold medal.

Sure, he said it was love, but was it really?

No, it was loneliness, and how no one else understood that truly shocked him.

Viktor discovered his loneliness after watching all of his performances from when he was sixteen onward.

That was the only emotion he could infer from his skating—pure loneliness.

By this time Viktor was on his own with his routines, only using Yakov’s name so he had someone to rely on.

Yakov knew that too.

So he danced as if he was Kevin Bacon. And he dance and danced and danced.

And he skated and skated and skated.

And ate from time to time. 

Viktor was eating, not as much as he should, but he was.

Not because of his body, not because of hatred, not because of disgust.

Because of habit.

A dirty habit that he wished he had never started because he still hasn’t talked to his mother.

His Mama that he couldn’t look in the eye because he was a disgrace to her and himself.

Viktor felt guilty and heartbroken and immature. 

So he danced and skated because that was the only thing he could do right.

* * *

Viktor choreographed 'Stay Close to Me' as a duet.

A duet that he promised to keep locked away until he found someone to skate with.

Or to the grave.

But when he was practicing in the silence of the rink at an ungodly hour, he didn’t realize someone was watching.

Until Plisetsky was on skates at the edge of the ice when Viktor finished.

“I’m no idiot.” Was all Yuri said and Viktor knew what he meant.

Viktor knew that it would be with him in his grave before he would even have the chance.

* * *

Viktor would say that 'Stay Close to Me' won him his fifth gold medal at the Grand-Prix.

Because finally Viktor was able to skate with a real emotion, even if it hurt.

Even if no one realized except the ones who had been there for a long time.

Even if he was alone doing it.

He was finally able to achieve that medal and be proud of what he had done.

* * *

Yuri nodded his head at Viktor when he approached the kiss and cry after his free program.

That’s all Viktor needed to see because finally, he made someone else proud of him too.

* * *

But even with a gold medal he was proud of, Makkachin’s unconditional love, and Plisetsky’s constant banter, Viktor was still the same.

Nothing had changed in the past eleven years except Viktor was now able to say that he had a problem. 

So one week out of the month, he would falter again and again.

And again and again, he would say the next month would be different.

And again and again, he wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. 

Why fix something that couldn’t be the same again.

* * *

Viktor never thought someone else would ever perform one of his routines.

Viktor never thought someone else would ever perform one of his routines and _get it_.

* * *

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* * *

And the only text he got was from Yakov.

_‘He’ll never forgive you.’_

He was right, but Viktor had to go and Yakov got that.

One day, Plisetsky would understand that too.

* * *

Yuuri Katsuki is a lot different than what Viktor thought he would be.

Not to say that he was disappointed, just shocked maybe?

He was much different than what was seen when he was on the ice.

Yuuri had this confidence that Viktor had never seen before, as if the routine was printed on the back of his hand, engraved in his brain.

As if he was born to only do that one thing, that one thing being Viktor’s Stay Close to Me routine.

He was flattered to say the least, but he expected more per se?

Yuuri is a lot different than he had expected because he looked like he was the best thing to grace this world while performing for no one.

But he can’t do jack shit in front of an audience and Viktor doesn’t understand.

Yuuri is beautiful. Viktor can’t understand why he doesn’t think that way too.

Viktor is always different than he usually is when he’s around Yuuri.

He’s happier, more open and a lot more touchy. Viktor just wants to be close to him, understand him—die with him.

Viktor just wants to be with him and he doesn’t understand why.

* * *

Viktor was twenty-seven when he met the love of his life and he was twenty-seven when he realized that even love couldn’t fix him.

But he was also twenty-seven when he realized that there was nothing to be fixed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

+I.

Yuuri was twelve the first time he saw him skate, and he felt like he was breathing for the first time.

Yuuko was an angel for introducing him to the ice, and Yuuri could never thank her enough, but him. He was the reason why Yuuri skated with every emotion under the sun. All of his skating was for him.

After years and years of practicing at the old rink in his small town, he and Yuuko knew every crack and crease within the hard wooden boards and the froze steel slabs. They even knew how to sneak into the manager's office as he slept at the front desk.

It was a cold day and it was even colder inside, but Yuuri had no time to adjust before he was being yanked forcefully by Yuuko shortly after entering the rink.

“Yuuri, you have to see him!” Yuuko’s eyes shined brighter than usual, making a pit in Yuuri’s stomach that twisted with jealousy over this ‘he’.

Before Yuuri could even open his mouth and ask whom she was talking about, he was being dragged again by his chubby little wrist to the manager's office where a small television, much older than himself, glowed in the back right corner. 

Yuuko had already set up mountains of pillows for them to sit on and Yuuri was practically thrown into his seat. Yuuko jumped right in next to him, almost landing on top of him. She was shaking with unadulterated excitement—excitement rivalling that which Yuuri had seen when he first stepped onto to the ice years earlier. 

“Yuuko, what are you even talking abo-”

“The Junior Grand-Prix, Yuuri, look!” 

Confused, Yuuri turned his gaze toward the screen, and his eyes locked on to the most beautiful human being he had ever seen. No, he was much more than beautiful, but Yuuri could not begin to fathom the perfect word to describe him.

He was breath-taking, Yuuri had never felt such a way before. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and when he tried to speak his voice was halted by how awestruck he was. 

The teen’s stunning silver hair was pulled back, causing him to look younger than he was. Yuuri couldn’t believe how tall he was; even without his skates, he would definitely still tower over Yuuri. The crown of thick blue roses that adorned his head brought out the irises of his eyes which couldn’t possibly be real due to how intensely blue they were. His eyes reminded Yuuri of the bright sky at noon on the clearest day imaginable. Those pools of blue glowed on his boyish face, but his smile spoke differently. His smile made him look aged beyond his years, and definitely beyond Yuuri’s. It curved at the end, and when he looked at the camera, Yuuri was positive that his heart missed a beat, then another and another. 

He could feel Yuuko’s eyes searching his entire face, trying to grasp a response from him, but Yuuri couldn’t tear his eyes away from the glow of the television. He guessed that was as good a response as ever. 

Yuuri didn’t even know his name, hadn’t even seen him skate yet, and he knew that he was going to be the reason for Yuuri’s future—whether it be skating or just plain living.

But as soon he started his free program, Yuuri knew. He just knew that his future was going to be right next to him, right next to the glorious man on the glorious ice. Maybe, hopefully, _definitely_ one day he could skate like him, near him, _with_ him.

He moved like the Earth had stopped, as if its rotation around the sun had come to a halt and only he could revive it. His skates seemed to be floating above the ice rather than scratching on the frictionless surface, gliding in childish patterns that aided in making him seem young and innocent. Delicate hands caressed each movement he made, but he opened up his body for everyone to hold in awe during some of the most difficult jumps Yuuri has ever witnessed. 

He was gaining so many extra points, continuing to amaze Yuuri. He couldn’t stop surprising him. 

But he looked focused, not really adding any extra emotion to the performance. He looked determined, powerful, and dare Yuuri say, arrogant.

It was the most wonderful performance he had ever had the pleasure of watching. It didn’t seem real to him. It ached him to the core once the music had completely faded out, officially ending the wondrous performance. He was breathing heavily, with a bright smile that was too much to take in. Yuuri couldn’t help but smile with him. 

“Who is he?” Yuuri’s voice was quiet and soft against the crowd’s booming cheers that echoed through the television and into the dark office.

“Viktor Nikiforov.” Yuuko sounded breathless like himself, and Yuuri couldn’t even begin to place the feeling that was now comfortably warming his stomach. 

Viktor. Yuuri could remember that, he would remember that even if the world began caving in on itself.

Yuuri remembers running home that night, the moon guiding his way across the pavement as the cold air slashed at his face and caused invisible tears to run down his rosy cheeks as his eyes began to dry out. He didn’t care, he had to get home. 

All he wanted to do was talk and talk and talk about him, about Viktor. 

“Mama, Yuuko told me that he is one of the most successful skaters in Junior history, all of it!”

“Oh sweetie, you already said that.”

“I know Mama, but he is and he is so, _so_ beautiful.”

She turned around with a soft smile to look into her son’s warm hazelnut eyes, a smile Yuuri knew like the back of his hand. Before his Mama could even open her arms, Yuuri was already running into them, laughing hard with the utmost glee in his voice. 

“You’re beautiful too.” He whispered against her, able to feel the giggles that explode from her chest into the open kitchen.

“Yuuri, I love you sweetheart, always.” She mumbled into his hair making Yuuri feel warm and safe. 

“I know, _I know_ , love you too mama.” Yuuri wondered if Viktor was doing this same thing with his Mama right now after winning another gold.

He hoped he was.

* * *

“Mama, I don’t know if I was cut out for this.” Yuuri spoke softly into the phone.

He was able to sneak off and find an empty hallway to curl up in. He knew that he should be with his coach right now, he only had minutes before he was going to perform.

“Sweetie, you’ll never know if you don’t try.” His mother’s voice was so warm and comforting and he just really needed that right now. 

Yuuri’s heart was racing. It was his first real competition after years of practicing and watching and watching and watching. 

There was a part of him that was cursing silently at himself for wanting to give up his efforts—all the almost twisted ankles, blistered and bruised feet, sore muscles, horrible falls—he couldn’t tap out now, not before he could show _him_ what he was capable of on the ice. 

But then there was the self-doubt, the terrifying dip in his stomach similar to the moment right before a roller coaster drops, the feeling of complete fear. The fear of failure was heavy on Yuuri’s tongue, and he didn’t want to his disappoint his family, to disappoint himself. 

“You’re watching right, watching with Yuuko and everyone, right?” Yuuri’s voice was quiet, full of nerves and doubts.

“We are right behind you. Papa is there in the stands waiting for you, so make us proud! I love you, Yuuri.” 

“I know.”

When he hung up, his chest still felt heavy, but definitely cleaner. Of course he still had his doubts, but his family doesn’t doubt him. Even if it doesn’t work out, he still has his family. 

But then again, that still tasted a little sour in his mouth when he finally saw the ice.

It was cleared off for him, and he couldn’t breath again. 

His coach was helpful; Yuuri was lucky to find him in Hasetsu and beg him to coach Yuuri in the first place. 

He had taught Yuuri everything he could, and maybe if Yuuri did good enough, just maybe he could-

“You’ll do great.”

Those were the last words Yuuri heard before his coach nodded his head toward the middle of the ice. 

Yuuri skated timidly into the center of the rink. There were so many people here, watching him, ready to judge him. 

He was still breathing when the music began to play, so that was a good start. Yuuri moved in time with the music, still good. He needed to remember the music, feel the music and know it was there to comfort him and show him the way from start to finish through his performance. His music and his skates were his only friend on the ice and he could do this with their help. 

He could do this.

He can’t do this. His first jump scattered his brains when he felt himself need to put down a hand to keep himself up.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he was breathing or not. He knew he was still skating his routine and that he was in fact still alive, shockingly. 

But now he was nervous, as if every word his mother had said to him went straight through one ear and out the other. 

Was he a disappointment?

Yuuri kept his eyes open despite having the urge to flee the ice and hide until his flesh rotted off his bones.

‘I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.’

The next jump was a success, and the next and the next and the next.

Yuuri felt the weight of the world leave his shoulders, and he couldn’t believe how free he felt in that moment. 

Once the performance was finally over and Yuuri was able to take in what had just happened, he began to understand why Viktor always smiled like he had just helped hang the stars in the night sky.

* * *

Yuuri watched every one of Viktor’s performances as if it were the last thing he would ever see, drinking each and every one of them in with an unrivaled fervor.

He couldn’t find anything more pleasing to do other than skating himself, and even that was only second to watching Viktor’s skating. 

Yuuri was obsessed over the emotion that Viktor produced because he never showed it. 

Viktor never showed what he was actually feeling when he skated, he only ever skated for the judges and the audience, never for himself. Yuuri could see his inner turmoil, he could feel it.

Yuuri wanted to figure out what was going on in his head, how he performed it alone, how he chose each of his themes, each jump, everything. Yuuri just wanted to know who Viktor was.

Because he knew everything about Viktor Nikiforov, top figure skater, but that wasn’t who Viktor was.

Yuuri had a feeling that the real Viktor wasn’t star material, wasn’t made for the eyes of the world, but only a select few. He wanted nothing more than to be one of them, be close to Viktor, close to his heart. 

He wanted to see what Viktor looked like when he skated for himself.

* * *

The first time Yuuri caught a glimpse of the real Viktor, saw Viktor skate for himself, was the year Viktor won his fifth Grand-Prix gold medal. That season was filled with nothing less than raw emotion that, surprisingly, no one else saw or even cared to see, but it was so obviously there. Yuuri had never seen a skater so open to the public and, even if it last for only a couple minutes, it was there.

Yuuri had never felt more physically hurt than when he saw Viktor skate in the final. He had never seen anything more heartbreaking than the performance that had been so vehemently laid out for all to see. 

That was the first time Yuuri ever had a chance to watch him skate in person, and there was so much beauty in it. 

Viktor performed for his audience perfectly, but there was something different to it. His face, his eyes, his movements were so relaxed and open for everyone to just get a peek inside at who Viktor really was.

And it was heart aching, heartbreaking, heart wrenching. It was the last thing Yuuri expected from him.

The sadness dripped from his soft blue eyes, allowing one to catch sight of his soul if you looked directly into them. He was pale and small, almost hiding in his movements, afraid, as if anyone could see what he actually was. 

Yuuri saw it all though, because this is what he wanted, the real Viktor. And he could finally understand why Viktor never showed it—because all the real him showed was his unhappiness. 

Viktor revealed his pain, his fears, his hatred, his everything, and none of it was positive. 

All of him ached in loneliness, as if there was nowhere for him to go except to the ice because only there was he able to show himself, and even then– 

Even then, this was the first time Viktor was skating because he wanted too.

Yuuri cried because he had never seen something so breathtaking yet so, so empty in his life.

All he could do is cry, cry because he had the feeling that Viktor couldn’t cry for himself anymore.

* * *

So Yuuri re-watched all of Viktor’s performances again, and again, and again.

Not as some crazed fan or a fan at all, all he wanted to know was if Viktor was well.

If he was okay? Maybe, Yuuri actually didn’t know what exactly he was looking for, but he started from when Viktor was fifteen. 

When Viktor was fifteen was the last time it looked like he truly wanted to skate, in Yuuri’s opinion. Although, this could all be in Yuuri’s mind because no one else seemed to pick up on it, no one else seemed to actually look at the man. 

Viktor was chubby as a fifteen year old, chubby like any other fifteen year old. He didn’t look any special really, except for his long hair which was overwhelmingly gorgeous, even back then. 

He smiled brightly and Yuuri had that smile permanently engraved in his mind, wanting it to be there forever. He looked happy, really truly happy.

The change had to of occurred when Viktor was sixteen because, in those performances, he was cold.

Not in temperature, but in looks. His eyes were sunken into his face, and his hair seemed dull. His eyes still glowed, but there was a difference. And it just got worse and worse and worse as Viktor got older. 

Yuuri could write a timeline from start to finish on the decay of Viktor Nikiforov because it looked like he was rotting. 

His routines were performed with less and less vitality as each year progressed, and Yuuri continued to watch his idol’s deterioration up until his third Grand-Prix appearance. 

Viktor looked like he was in absolute pain as he skated around the rink. Yuuri pushed his glasses up against the bridge of his nose. He could see the pain with the slightest look at Viktor’s face and through the observation of how his knees just didn’t bend.

Yuuri didn’t remember Viktor or Mr. Feltsman saying that he was injured, but he was. He definitely was.

Why keep an injury secret? His eyes would screw together at the ends of jumps by a fraction, and Yuuri swears he could sometimes hear the cracks in his knee joints. 

Why keep an injury secret?

* * *

Yuuri wanted to skate to ‘Stay Close to Me’ because he wanted to understand. Did it really feel lonely to skate to it if he was the one doing it rather than its composer?

The answer was yes, a thousand times yes.

Yuuri took hours of notes while studying Viktor’s performance for two days straight. He wanted every look, every motion, every sigh down to the dot to see if it made him feel empty, lost, maybe even ashamed. 

Youtube would probably consider his video history to be that of a stalkers, and when he thought about it, he kind of was. 

But once he felt comfortable with knowing the routine, felt as if it were tattooed across his body, he ran to the rink and laced up his skates.

It had been awhile since he had skated like this, skated seriously. It wasn’t like he was taking a break, he just, well, he didn’t know if skating was really for him anymore. 

But he had to do this, he had to know. So he learned the routine. 

The first time through was rough; his quads were shaky and led him to fall over repeatedly. The second time wasn’t as bad, but still not even close to the hallowed beauty of Viktor’s presentation.

He could feel it though. Yuuri could feel his soul spilling out onto the ice as if he had became hollow on the inside, as if he were no longer real, no longer existing.

He felt ashamed, which he was expecting, but not like this, not so strongly. He felt like he was dancing to prove that he belonged and that he wasn’t a burden, maybe?

It was an odd feeling that he couldn’t quite put into words, so he kept skating, kept repeating the program. 

Finally, after the fifth or sixth time of going through the routine, he could land most of the quads. It was a hard routine and it was even harder to focus on how he was supposed to feel during it. 

This was going to take more than one day's worth of practice and something dropped in Yuuri’s stomach.

This could be a life time achievement, and if he was being completely honest with himself, Yuuri doesn’t think he could ever get that mentally low. 

And he hopes that he never does.

* * *

Yuuri likes to keep pictures; whether it be of landscapes or people, he just really likes to keep everything in his life in an everlasting photograph.

So of course he would have at least a couple posters of Viktor on his walls, and those pictures of him became the reason why it was now harder to sleep some nights. 

Yuuri would just stare at them, looking, analyzing, sometimes crying. 

How could he have all of these posters always in front of him, how could he have been watching him skate for so long and never realize Viktor’s suffering. 

Why couldn’t he have realized before it was too late? 

The day Viktor decided to retire was one of the worst days of Yuuri’s life because he just wanted to be like everyone else and remember Viktor for being beautiful.

Stunning, timeless, extraordinary, of course he will always remember him as being those things.

But Yuuri would also always remember him looking like he was in pain, looking like he was caged inside himself.

Yuuri allowed himself to cry a little harder that night, not really knowing why he cared so much for someone who would never even know his name.

* * *

How did Yuuko’s kids get a video of him. How the _hell_ did Yuuko’s kids get a video of him?!

A video of him skating to it, skating to Viktor’s routine.

And how the _fuck_ did it go viral.

That morning was a mess because it started way too early. Yuuri was aggressively wrestled awake by Minako, and he was surprised he didn’t piss himself out of complete fear.

She was yelling obscenely loud and, being half asleep, Yuuri didn’t really understand what was going on so he panicked, really bad. It took Minako a few moments to realize that Yuuri was only a few short breaths away from to going into a panic attack before she shut up and began to soothingly rub a hand across Yuuri’s shaking back.

“Jeez Yuuri, I’m real sorry. Shh, just calm down, this is my bad. Shh, that’s it just keep—yeah like that.”

Once Yuuri was calmed down and capable of hearing what the hell Minako was on about, Yuuko’s face flashed on his phone screen along with the shrill sound of his ringtone. He decided to pick it up, preferring to talk to someone actually sane. Turns out she was quite the opposite of that based on how she was currently screaming into his now tender ear.

“Yuuri!! I’m so sorry, I don’t know how they did it and I will delete the video as quickly as I can! I’m so, so sorry, I know this was supposed to be private, and I will beat every single one of them-!”

Yuuri put her on speaker phone for Minako to hear—all of this had to be connected.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” His voice wasn’t extremely harsh, but it was pretty close. 

Now every one of them were quiet, thanks. 

“His routine Yuuri, it’s on Youtube.”

Yuuri’s breath got caught in his throat again as if it was closing in on itself. Viktor’s routine, Yuuri’s carbon copy of it, was on Youtube. Oh Jesus mother of God.

“And it has almost a million views!”

That’s when Yuuri passed out.

Yuuri was fine. Really he was, just shocked, disturbed, numb. He could finally understand what Viktor was feeling because Yuuri was completely ashamed of himself.

He shouldn’t have been doing that because if Viktor sees it-

Would he know why Yuuri was doing it? 

Other than that, it looked like an innocent fan who wanted to try and copy the master.

An innocent fan who was actually a professional figure skater and lost too many hours of sleep trying to get the routine a crystal clear copy of the original. 

And when he watched it, Yuuri was really close. The only thing that he couldn’t do was have that glossy look over his eyes because naturally, Yuuri just wasn’t as sad as Viktor was.

* * *

Yuuri decided that Viktor is depressed at least, but when he first met him, well.

Now he doesn't really know anymore. 

Yuuri was walking back quietly from the Ice Castle and watched the clouds roll across the sky. It was a nice day, calm and beautiful making the stress he didn’t know he had roll off his shoulders into the sea he walked side by side with. 

He was just ready to pass out before dinner then stay up doing more research on someone who didn’t really look like they would care even if they were half dead. That sank in his stomach a little bit. 

When Yuuri entered, he was hit with something furry and warm. Blinking furiously, he saw a dog. 

Vicchan? No, not possible. 

“Oh Yuuri,” his father’s voice echoed off the wooden walls. “There is this nice boy with the silver hair you have been obsessive about since you could talk I swear, he is waiting for you outside.”

Wait, what? 

Silver hair? Obsessed? Poodle? Oh my God. 

Oh my God. 

_Jesus Christ, is he here?_

Yuuri picked himself off the ground before haphazardly throwing himself through his family's business. 

Outside, he cannot be outside. This isn’t real, this cannot be actually happening. 

So he ran and ran and fell and apologized to an old man who was very naked and kept running. 

Until he saw him. 

He was also very naked and his toned back made something in Yuuri’s stomach sit too still. His hair was short and he wished it could be long again, but his pale neck made his breath stick like honey in Yuuri’s throat. 

Viktor was something out of a film, wordlessly breathtaking making Yuuri feel like he was twelve again. 

And that's just the back of his body. 

Yuuri didn't know what to expect when he turned around, but it wasn't this. 

Viktor’s eyes shined like globals with glowing blues that were warmer than Yuuri would ever expect. They were playful and welcoming rather than cold and closed off for the world to turn away. 

His smile was more of a smirk which Yuuri kind of expected, his lips thin but plump nonetheless. Pink cheeks from the cold and lively. 

Holy shit, did Yuuri read this wrong along? Was he here to kick the living shit out of Yuuri? Eat him alive and spit him out for making him look weak?

Well, Viktor had definitely watched him skate and that made Yuuri’s legs feel like jello. 

How could Yuuri be this wrong?

“Oh Yuuri,” His voice was silk to his ears making him almost pass out for the second time in a week. 

“I’m here to be your coach, if you would let me.” Viktor’s smirk was enough to confuse Yuuri’s mind even more.

Could he really be this wrong?

* * *

His beauty was different when he slept.

Not that Yuuri watched him when he was sleeping, but he brought Yuuri in his room and Yuuri didn’t really want to leave. 

But that’s where he was staying at, where Yuuri lives. 

What the hell was going on?

Yuuri was so confused and didn’t really know what to do. Or how to talk. Or how to breath. 

So he just looked at him? It makes no sense, but there was something calming about watching Viktor sleep. 

He looked a lot younger, not like he looked old, but he looked like life hadn't shown him the ups and downs that he has experienced. 

Which also leads Yuuri to think about everything else. 

Viktor was happy, he didn't look like he did while he skated. His smile reached his eyes making them squint. And his eyes weren't glossed over, they were clear and looked engaged and excited. 

Yuuri didn't understand why he was. Viktor was away from home, claiming to be Yuuri’s coach, in a new country, and not afraid at all. 

He left his life, his coach, his home, all he had was his dog. 

Viktor didn't even know Japanese for all Yuuri knew. 

Why would he just leave everything to come here and coach him?

Yuuri just isn’t worth that much.

* * *

He didn't have the heart to tell Viktor to go home.

But at some point he had to tell him that he wasn't even thinking about skating again. So he did and that reaction was something else. 

“Viktor, I wasn't planning on skating next season.” Yuuri’s voice was timid, as if he was going to disappoint him. 

They were on the ice, it had been a week since Viktor had showed up out of the blue and Yuuri was still trying to put two and two together on why he wasn't leaving. 

“What do you mean?” Viktor’s voice was different than usual, it was low, almost shy. It sent shocks to Yuuri’s heart. 

“Well after last years Grand-Prix placing and all, I don't think I’m made for this, at least competitively.” Yuuri flopped his arms down to his sides. He wished he never brought it up. 

“But I will, if you really want to stay here and all, I will.” Yuuri responded quickly, he was trying to put Viktor back together. 

This is so weird, too weird. Weird weird _weird_. 

“Yuuri, if you don't want too, you don't have too.” 

Okay, he wasn't expecting that, more like expecting ‘why did you perform my routine then’ ‘why are you just playing along’ ‘why do you have posters of me in your room’. 

Yuuri is still pretty sure that Viktor hasn’t been in his room- 

Anyway. 

“Can we keep going?” Yuuri asked and Viktor was smiling when he did. 

Yuuri just wanted to keep that smile on his lips for as long as he could.

* * *

“Hey, Viktor, we have dinner ready.” Yuuri tipped his head into Viktor’s room.

Viktor looked up from his laptop and there it was. 

Yuuri wasn't sure in he imagined it, but his eyes weren't the same. 

They were almost gray, no color and clouded over. Viktor looked like he was sick.

“Ah, sure yes. I will- I’ll be there in a couple moments.”

Yuuri decided not to intruded and left closing the door behind him.

* * *

“Yuuri, your form looks amazing.” The praise reached Yuuri’s cheeks making him blush lightly.

“But your foot, it's always so sloppy when you come down and grab the touch of the ice-”

And Viktor would go on rants forever and forever that Yuuri would sometimes, only sometimes, daze off and just look at him. 

He looked the best this way, hair messy, eyes cheerful, baggy clothes, a little sweaty. Viktor looked the best around people, or at least around someone. 

“Yuuri, Yuuri, if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll have to kiss you.”

“What!?”

* * *

Viktor was a touchy individual, he was always touching Yuuri in someway, may it be appropriate or not.

Yuuri doesn't really mind it, it’s kind of nice. Yuuri has never really been into human contact, but with his loving family and Yuuko and Minako in general, he has gotten used to it. 

It was different with Viktor though, he didn't ask Yuuri if he could or couldn't hold his hand or rest his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, but he would always look him straight in his eyes for a second or two. 

Sometimes Yuuri would give away that he really wanted to be alone and Viktor would back off, but most of the time Viktor just gave him the most intimate of smiles back at him and keep doing what he wanted. 

Yuuri liked Viktor like this too, with an exploding amount of confidence that Yuuri would drown in it.

But Viktor would also say things that floated in Yuuri’s head.

“Don't make me kiss you.” “Oh darling, are you okay?” “Beautiful, absolutely beyond perfect.”

Yuuri would blush and shy away because he didn't know what to do. Praise was nice, but this felt like it wasn't supposed to be praise and that left him thoughtless and needy. 

Yuuri didn't want him to stop.

* * *

“Yuuri, why do you get to always see my room, but I have never seen yours.” Viktor’s voice was low and warmed Yuuri’s body to the core.

He was stuttering before he could even get a thought put together in his mind. 

_He cannot, and I mean **cannot** know of those damn posters._

It was Yuuri’s own fault for not taking them down. 

“No reason, none at all, I just. I like my room to be my place, that's all.” It came out as a clump of words that Yuuri prayed to God Viktor would understand. 

Viktor had one of those smiles like he already knew what Yuuri was on about. 

“That's fine, that’s fine.” Silk, fucking silk off his lips. 

“I’ll be off, I’m tired from today so don't bother getting me for dinner, I’ll eat later.”

Yuuri pretended he didn't see Viktor's eyes go almost gray again, he was just too tired.

* * *

Viktor woke up before Yuuri one day and Yuuri had to be told by his Mama that he didn't have to go in today.

“Thanks Mama, but did he say where he was?”

Yuuri couldn't have Viktor running around in a fucking country that he still doesn't know the language of. 

“Ice rink sweetheart.” 

Even though he didn't have to go, he wanted to see. Maybe Viktor was skating. Maybe he wasn't. 

Yuuri didn't want to guess on maybe though. 

So he went, Yuuri tried to be as quiet as could while walking in, but the door still slammed just as loud as usual. He flinched, but Viktor hadn't looked his way. 

Yuuri squinted his eyes even with his glasses on, he could see headphones. 

Viktor was skating to music, just in his own head. 

Yuuri felt bad for watching, but he found himself drawn in. 

He had that look, the complete look of hopelessness. 

_Maybe I was onto something._

His skating was still fantastic though, Yuuri understood why people would be encaptured in his movements rather they his emotions. 

They blended together making it hard to see what was what. 

Yuuri saw that Viktor was taking his phone out of his pocket a lot to gaze at it for a second or too, as if he was expecting something to be there. 

Or maybe a response from someone. 

Yuuri never had the chance to ask because Viktor stopped in the middle of the ice and just stood there. 

His hands were placed on both sides of his waist and Yuuri thought he was-

Squeezing them together?

“Oh Yuuri, why are you here?” Viktor sounded shocked and panicked, like he was caught doing something he shouldn't have.

Yuuri was panicking five times that. 

“Oh, I just, I don't, I mean, I’m sorry.” Yuuri finished, he wanted to run away. 

They stayed silent for a moment or two, until Viktor skated over at the edge of the rink where Yuuri was standing. 

He cupped one of Yuuri’s cheeks in his hand and lightly grazed his thumb over his soft skin. 

“Let’s work on that short program while you're here.”

Yuuri just nodded.

* * *

“Now you have to let me inside your room Yuuri. That was the deal.” Viktor almost purred into Yuuri ear as he was trying to catch his breath.

Yuuri didn't know why it would be a good idea to challenge him to a race from the rink to home. Because it was a really shitty idea. 

It sounded good when Viktor said that he would let Yuuri eat katsudo for a week if he won. 

And Yuuri really wanted to win. What a dumbass move on his part.

“You’re a really fast runner, it’s like you’ve been doing it forever and a day.” Yuuri left out a breathy laugh moving himself in front of Viktor.

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands when I was younger.” 

His body was tight against his bedroom door, trying to cover every space so Viktor would have no means in entering.

_Why didn’t I take the posters down?_

Yuuri knew why though, Viktor’s face had become so normal to see as the first thing and the last thing of his day that he didn’t really have the heart to move them. Even though the real one was only a door away from him.

“Come on Viktor, you know I was kidding-” Yuuri had no excuses, shit. 

Viktor got close, not any closer than usual, but all Yuuri could focus on was his breath on his neck and those eyes staring into his soul.

Yuuri flinched in shock when he felt Viktor’s cold hands sneak into his shirt and press on his chest, making Yuuri squeal at the cold giving Viktor enough time to push a surprised Yuuri out of the way. 

Once the door was open, it was all over. 

Viktor was silent and that made Yuuri shiver straight to the marrow in his bones. 

“So you are a fan hmm.” Viktor’s voice was different than what Yuuri was used too, quiet and humble.

“Um, yeah, I’ve been watching you skate since you were sixteen.” Yuuri knew that was the wrong thing to say when he could visible turn into himself. 

Viktor moved into Yuuri’s room more, looking with wonder in his eyes at the posters of himself on Yuuri’s plain walls. Yuuri stood by the door, not daring to move, not even when Viktor pulled out his computer chair and sat down in it. Viktor’s shoulders were squared in leaving him powerless.

“You are the only one who could see it.” The neutralness in his voice made Yuuri feel unsettled.

“I knew that the day I saw you skate to my routine, the detail you put in it just astonished me. The way you skated was so pleasurable and welcoming, but you had the face. You knew exactly what I felt when I skated it.” 

“And I had to know if you did, I had to know more and more, not because I was afraid, but-” Viktor seemed to become the sixteen year old Yuuri never saw. 

_“I had to know if you were doing the same thing as me.”_

Yuuri was now confused again by the one and only Viktor Nikiforov, as if it was Viktor’s favorite pass time.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri took his first step into the room, then another. He made his way to his bed where he sat down quietly. He had never seen his coach or friend this apprehensive.

Viktor looked like he was going to be sick and Yuuri was ready to get a garbage bin. He had this smile on his face like he was thinking of something completely silly and out of his mind and Yuuri got nervous, what if he was going insane. Wouldn’t surprise him at this point. 

He put a hand through his hair and pulled on it lightly, as if he was trying to get his thoughts together. Yuuri could see the fight he had in his eyes and once again they were just gray. Dull and lifeless.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri.” The crack at the end made Yuuri’s heart break. “I’m so sorry that it had to happen like this.”

Viktor had put his head in his hands, his palms were rubbing against his eyes aggressively that could only imply that he was in tears. Yuuri wanted to go over and comfort him, but he didn’t know how. 

“When was the last time you cried?” The question echoed off of the walls and so did that first sob out of Viktor’s mouth.

“A while.”

Yuuri was one to be happy when he was right about something. However, all this gave him was a bitter taste in his mouth and tears running down his cheeks too.

* * *

It took a while for Viktor to completely open himself up to Yuuri, but when he did, he wasn’t really different than he was before.

Naturally, Viktor is a flirtatious individual, all fun and rarely upset about most things. A harsh coach and a loving friend, but also a pained character in his own story.

Of course Yuuri cried once Viktor told him about not eating and cried harder for how long he had been doing it.

But nothing was more revealing then seeing that pain lift off of his shoulders and him being completely honest with Yuuri.

And that’s when Yuuri realized he was in love with him, all of him. No matter what.

* * *

Viktor took him out to dinner one night.

It was after a long practice, a couple months before the Grand-Prix, Yuuri was starving and every time his stomach growled Viktor would laugh.

His laughter is something holy, Yuuri swears.

Yuuri smiled when Viktor ate with him, they didn’t talk about it often unless Viktor was having a hard day or week.

But Viktor asked a question that will always be engraved in Yuuri’s mind.

“Will you skate with me?”

Yuuri choked on his bow-tied pasta and Viktor started slapping his hand on his back.

“What-what do you mean? To what?” Yuuri felt like he was floating on air, skate with Viktor? 

Yuuri would love nothing more than that. 

“Well, you know ‘Stay Close to Me’ and there is more to it. Will you skate it with me?”

Yuuri and Viktor furiously threw unknown amounts of money at the waiter before rushing back to the ice rink, hand in hand through the starlight.

And they practiced until the sun came up, Yuuri will always remember it.

Until the day he died.

* * *

The seasons changed and competitions of skating went through their lives like a motion picture, but that was never their main focus.

Yuuri wanted to be their for Viktor and Viktor the same as Yuuri, but Yuuri did also see that their were others that needed Viktor too.

Finally back home after Yuuri’s silver at the Grand-Prix, he felt more comfortable with their silence than ever before, but he had to break it at some point.

“You know Yuri Plisetsky right?” Yuuri knew this answer, but why not ask.

“Yes, I do.” Yuuri was laying his head down on Viktor’s chest and looked up to meet his eyes.

“Then why didn’t you saying anything after he won gold.”

“It’s complicated.” Viktor’s voice was sharp enough for Yuuri to know that was the end of the conversation.

Yuuri should have known that answer, everything was complicated with Viktor and he wouldn’t have it another way.

* * *

It was Yuuri’s idea to go to Russia and Viktor was not extremely happy about it.

“Vitya, you can’t run from it your whole life. Look at yourself a year ago, you are amazing and you have improved.”

The sigh told Yuuri that he had already won and he couldn’t help, but smile. It had been awhile since he had been in Russia and he couldn’t wait to see it again.

“Thank you.” Viktor said with a smile on his lips and all Yuuri did was meet them with a soft kiss.

Yuuri’s mother was able to drive them to the closest airport to see them off.

“Thank you so much Mama, I love you.” 

“Love you too, love you as well Vicchan!” She waved them off and Yuuri could tell something wasn’t sitting right with him.

* * *

Yuuri was so in love with him it hurt. His smile and his eyes and his everything, Yuuri was completely head over heels for him.

But he also cared for him as a friend and wanted the best for him even if he didn’t agree.

“Viktor, you should go see your mother while we are here.” 

Yuuri knew that Viktor could barely forgive himself in general, but when it came to his mother, he felt down right horrible. 

He could see that gray in his eyes again and Yuuri couldn’t help, but cup his cheeks in his hands. 

“Don’t give me that look, it’ll be okay. I’ll go too.” Viktor didn’t smile or smirk or really do anything, but he did end up nodding. 

Luckily they were already in their hotel settled in for the night so Yuuri dragged him to bed and landed his head across his chest.

“I’m really proud of you Viktor, I love you.”

“I love you too.” Yuuri and Viktor both fell asleep with a smile on their faces.

* * *

Yuuri could hear that Viktor’s knock on the door was soft and nervous, but his face when his mother opened the door was priceless.

“Oh Vitya.” Yuuri cried too when he saw Viktor’s mother throw herself at her son.

“Welcome home.”

* * *

Yuuri first saw Viktor skate when he was twelve and first saw Viktor when he was twenty-four.

There was something beautiful about both of them and it was that Yuuri never felt lost when he was looking at them, felt like he was home whether it be on the ice or in a pair of arms.

Viktor had bad days, horrible days; he had days that hurt both of them more than they ever think of. It would never be easy, but it would always be worth it because both of them were willing to support and love each other when they needed it. 

“Thank you for coming into my life.” Yuuri whispered against Viktor’s lips as he felt his hands slowly raise under his shirt making him smile into the kiss.

The buzz of Viktor’s phone made Yuuri roll his eyes then slap him when Viktor reached for the phone.

“It’ll be quick, it’ll be quick.” Viktor laughed as he looked at the screen

_I heard you were in town old man, let’s talk. YP_

“Who is it?” Yuuri looked over and Viktor smiled back at him.

“An old friend, but I’ll worry about that later.” Viktor pulled Yuuri back into his lap and put his lips against the nap of Yuuri’s neck making him sigh.

Both of them could only think that this could work.

This could work until the end of time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading this and for anyone out there struggling, please reach out for help.
> 
> you are needed and wanted here on this planet.
> 
> thank you again.


End file.
